March 27, 2007

My Spiritual Journey: Finding Grace in the Midst of Ungrace

by Cheri Mueller

My earliest memories of going to church were Saturday afternoons. My sister and I would tag along with my mom to our big suburban church building while she had women's ministry work to do. While she worked on her projects, my sister and I would race through the empty halls like third graders on spring break.

Our favorite place to play was the huge, vacuous, wooden-pewed sanctuary. It felt like walking into a magical forest at midnight. Creeping down aisles in the near-pitch dark, and climbing near the baptismal tank (which we thought was a glorified hot tub), we breathed shallow, waiting to be discovered.

We half expected a voice from Heaven to boom at our childish trespasses, and to shun the disrespectful ways we crawled under pews on cold concrete floors, or stood at the pulpit like we had something important to say. But the only sound was a deep resonant humming from the room's large furnace fans. I would lie on my back on the red-cushioned pews, while my sister preached a sermon on stuffed animals, and breathe in what I imagined was the breath of God.

As I grew older, those playful Saturday romps began to stand in stark contrast to the sense of dis - ease I felt on Sundays. With lights on, and people milling around in their 'Sunday best,' it felt like I was participating in a strange staged show. In our church I sensed that there were strict guidelines for what we should think and not think, do and not do, and for where we should go and not go. My parents had a friend who was kicked out of the choir because his daughter (one of my teenage friends) became pregnant.

It felt like we were spiritual Stepfords.

In reaction to the un-grace all around me, and probably in me, I rebelled. At the age of 14, I too began to make bad choices. I lied to my parents, snuck around behind their backs, and started down a dangerous road that threatened serious life-long consequences. But I thank God for the day as a highschool sophomore, that I first encountered Grace.

I was sitting on a Greyhound bus with my church youth group traveling home from a South Padre spring break trip. Someone had lent me a tape of Mylon LeFevre to listen to on my 'Walkman.' Mylon was a popular Black Sabbath band member turned follower of Christ, and he was singing a bluesy rendition of Jesus Loves Me. As I sat staring out the window at the passing scenery, ruminating over all of the ways I'd been messing up my life, I heard God say, "I love you and accept you just the way you are, Cheri. I died for your sins. They mark you no more."

Somehow, through Mylon's music and message, I turned a corner. I was washed in waves of peace, and something settled in my soul. When we returned home from that trip, my parents especially noticed a change. My step was light, my spirit at rest, my choices different. But I couldn't explain to them what had happened. It was nothing of my own doing. All I could say was that I had been bathed in Mercy.

In some ways I feel like I never got off that bus. Receiving, understanding, and living in Grace has been an ongoing journey for me. When I headed off to college, I had another encounter with Grace that was less dramatic but perhaps even more significant. It was when one of my college Bible professors gave a lecture on the Holy Spirit. It was a lecture that challenged me to consider faith in a new light. I had been raised to believe that faith was something I willed into being, mustered up when needed, and controlled. Sure, Jesus died for my sins, but faith was the muscle I needed to exercise in order to make his salvation apply to me. I lived under the burden of believing that if I let my faith atrophy, or fail, then my spiritual destiny was tentative. But this professor emphasized Ephesians 2:8 which says, "For it is by grace, through faith, that you have been saved, and not of yourselves, it is a gift of God" (Eph 2:8). It was slowly sinking in that there was absolutely nothing I could do or not do that would make God love me any more or any less. Even faith was a gift!

When we moved from Chicago to Minnesota six years ago, it was the gift of faith that saw us through a season of difficulty. Due to 9-11's impact on the economic world, my husband lost his new job for which we had relocated. We had given up everything familiar to come here - family, friends, a church we called "home" - and now we were not only short on money, but we were without the much needed economy of friends.

I began spiraling into an unexpected season of depression. On some of those especially dark and anxious nights, I'd soak up the scriptures for comfort and strength. There were nights when I would fall asleep in bed with an open Bible held tightly to my chest. Thankfully, throughout my spiritual journey God had been transforming my understanding of him. He was no longer a legalistic Lord, but a God of Grace. Hope and healing came during this season of hardship as I realized that faith was not about my own best efforts to hold on to God, but about God's loving hold on me.

At the same time, Family of Christ became a lifeline for my husband and I. Not only were the pastoral staff a practical help in the face of financial hardship, but coming to church on Sundays, and plugging in to the women's Friday morning Bible study provided meaningful relationships. I met women who were gracious, warm, and willing to be authentic about their own imperfect lives and spiritual journeys. I'm still a part of that group. I cherish the diversity of thoughts, opinions, and real life experiences these women share.

I also appreciate how our church leaders, overall, encourage us to think independently and to be ourselves. When I'm tempted to jump back on to a spiritual treadmill trying to earn God's love and favor, messages from the pulpit remind me that grace is enough. When I start to think it's my job to erase personal sins and deficits, I am pointed to the cross, and assured that my own best efforts can never replace the loving power of Christ.

Through the genuine, grace-giving friendships here at Family of Christ, I sense that I'm slowly returning to those early, imaginative steps of my childhood, where I am free to play and grow in the Kingdom of God without fear.